Shelter
by jaggedjacket
Summary: Iruka greets his partner face to face after many years of fighting silently for the same cause. Me no own.


Iruka peered out the window of his small apartment overlooking a well worn porch and three apartment doors angling at about 45 degree angle from his. The structure of the building was old and in need of repair, but on a teacher's salary the rent was what he could financially afford. What little of his view that wasn't building was a harsh three story drop down into a verdant grassy meadow before hitting the inevitable tree line that surrounded Konoha.

The end apartment he eyed over again and lingered curiously, hoping to see a flash of the weapons mistress as he mundanely washed his dishes for the morning.

She had moved in yesterday, and he hadn't been around to help, a most neighborly thing that he was known for. He had spotted children of various sizes, peeking in on tip-toes and sticky hands on the flower box, hoping, like himself to spot his new neighbor. After no answer they would parade over to his apartment with wide-eyes and ruffled hair, wondering where their Miss Ten was.

Funny how he felt he was the only one to take in so many children.

Naturally, she probably had a whole troop, like he did, trampling underfoot when she wasn't taking missions. Now the stairwells would be twice as occupied, and twice as noisy, shuffling the youth and orphaned of Konoha in the buildings narrowly spaced scaffolding and walkways. At least he didn't feel so alone. He supposed the influx of youth piled on his doorstep fell in sync with when she was gone. She had returned from a mission recently to move to her new apartment; Iruka couldn't be more pleased. At least he would have a kindred spirit.

It wasn't until evening after a long day of grading papers and wrestling brats that he was able to knock on the similar paint-chipped door of the complex. Her's was the last door along the outside hall, the numbers had been removed long ago or fallen off. It was a miracle the children knew where to find her to begin with.

His gift of teas leaves in hand, he knocked again, certain that she was in. Another knock and the door creaked ajar, as if to welcome him inside.

Calling out her name, he crossed the threshold and was greeted with the warm aroma of baked treats and friendly music, permeating the air with a joyful sensation that left a smile across his scarred face. He walked in, and noticed the konoichi taking a tray out of the oven, three little ones underfoot, three at her table helping to remove the baked goodies and place them in containers, and one on the counter with a head inside a large clear mixing bowl, trying to lick it clean.

She turned around and greeted the academy sensei with a brilliant smile, and as the children took notice of him, they huddled around his legs squeezing him by way of greeting, peering up with innocent eyes and batter-clad cheeks. He patted their heads in turn, taking note of their sticky hands and soft heads. He offered the box to the smallest of the children, bending down and asking the wide-eyed youth if they would be so kind as to hand that to "Miss Ten."

With a curt and fervent nod, the curly haired boy clasped the box in hand and ran over to Tenten who thanked the boy with a ruffled hand to his head and smiled over at Iruka once more. Bending down she whispered secretively into the boy's ear as she winked at Iruka, a sparkle of an imp glistened in her eyes, and the scar-clad ninja raised a curious eyebrow at the machinations going on in front of him.

With a hop, the boy raced over to the table and picked up a large platter, and on wobbly feet offered a snack to the pony-tailed man. He snagged a smaller bar off the tray and thanked him, and took a bite.

It wasn't your typical sugary treat, he noted, but it was equally good. The texture indicated there were a lot of whole grains and the only real sweetness came from the fruit that was mixed in with it and possibly just a touch of honey.

He noted the way the children were looking at him, expecting him to say something by way of compliment about the half-eaten goodie.

"This is very good," he said after swallowing, "did you help make these?"

With another adamant nod, he proudly announced, "Miss Ten helped us!"

By the looks of her kitchen, she was making quite a few of these bars; container after stacked container lined an abandoned chair by the counter like blocks all full of the crispy bars fresh from the oven.

It was a smart idea, really, making a nutritious snack like these to hand out quickly to the droves of children milling in and out of the complex. There seemed to be so many these days. Had his baking skills been up to par, he might have been able to replicate such a well thought out snack plan.

As it was, he was stalked up on rice and other basic food groups, always willing to share another cup of rice in a cracked bowl for lesser fortunate of Konoha.

Tenten placed the box of leaves on the counter next to the messy boy now faultering under the weight of the large mixing bowl. Tenten easily slipped the glass helmet off his head and pressed her forehead playfully to the tot's own, looking him in the eye and announcing cheerfully, "You're a sticky mess!"

To this he splayed his fingers and arms proudly, " 'Ticky mess!" he mimicked back with great fanfare. She scooped him up under the arms and flew him to the sink to rinse him off.

He used the time to drink in the ambiance of the apartment, noting the silk screen in the corner and plants dotting the windowsills.

The rest of the evening fell into fits of giggles, mini chase scenes, washing tiny hands and faces, stacking more snacks into jars and boxes, cleaning the kitchen, story telling and kissing boo-boos. Iruka hadn't noticed how fast the time had passed and soon the bubbling children were shuffling through the door and the place was a tranquil calm.

Iruka was thumbing through her sewing box, hypnotized with shiny buttons and slips of ribbons while she remained preoccupied making tea in the kitchen.

"Thank you," he smiled as he took the warm mug. "I hope you like the tea."

"My favorite, actually," she stated as if she wasn't surprised, "I'm sure the children have already relayed all that information to you."

Iruka gave a shy chuckle. The flock of children had been raving about "Miss Ten for years now, it was a wonder they hadn't thought to come together and talk about the situation sooner. He already felt like he new her intimately, even though, in truth, this was one of the first times they had actually met. He didn't have the pleasure of teaching her at the academy, he wasn't actually sure when she attended. All he knew was that "Miss Ten" had been the frequent talk of his rouge youths as they came and went in his dwelling over the past two years. He would imagine that was when she had gained chunin status. On a genin's wages, one could hardly be able support themselves, and by the looks of the girl in front of him, she probably did. It reminded him fondly of Naruto, and Iruka reminisced on such thoughts for just a little while.

"They certainly do talk about you a lot; they are quite fond of you," he stated with intended compliment.

"Ah," she said in turn, "but tales of the infamous sensei are much more interesting."

They settled in and sipped their tea respectively, finally relaxing from the weight of their shoulders being lifted off of them for the moment. The children had been taken care of another day, and that was all they could hope for. The sounds of the crickets outside reminded them that the night would not last long; the children would be back in the morning, a fresh round of innocence knocking on the window pane with hopeful expressions and open hands. Sometimes it was too much for one person to bear.

They must have had the same thoughts, they shared the look, one that demonstrated the gratitude for each others help over the last years as silent partners, fostering the children of youth and surrogately raising them with what little funds and means they could. The question lingered in their look, almost taking them both by surprise, they each asked it of the other, "is the their account of you accurate?" they sized each other up, like myths come to life, not wanting to doubt, but wanting to believe that hey weren't alone.

That there was hope and a haven when they needed it, just like the refuge they provided for the ones so small and so many. Could they find a shelter in each other?


End file.
